


Life in the Fast Lane

by IceEckos12



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Baby Driver AU, Bisexual Lance, Lots of Music, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Starring: - Freeform, allura the rival gang leader, also featuring:, character with a hearing disability, haggar is tired of everyone's shit, hunk and pidge as overprotective friends, keith as baby, lance as debora, lotor as the spoiled child, sendak is occasionally a good guy, shiro the disgruntled cop, zarkon as himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 10:23:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11461644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceEckos12/pseuds/IceEckos12
Summary: Baby Driver x Voltron crossoverRed is an unwilling getaway driver for the most dangerous man in the entire city. He's counting down the days until he can finally get on with his life.Then he meets a blue-eyed waiter with the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen, and things go downhill from there.





	1. Get it Right the First Time

**Author's Note:**

> warning: there are some slurs against disabled people in this chapter. if that makes you uncomfortable, sorry.

“You know what you’re doing, right?” Sendak asked, leaning through the window and into Red’s personal space. Red pretended not to notice, of course--with his earbuds tucked in and his shades perched on his nose, he knew he looked as bored as he could--but he internally cringed away from the invasion of his personal space. It didn’t help that Sendak smelled like an Old Spice commercial had thrown up all over some cigarettes and alcohol. 

Instead of responding, Red flashed the older man a thumbs up.

Sendak hesitated for a second, brow furrowing over his single eye, as though he wasn’t sure whether or not to take Red seriously. But then Haggar growled something unintelligible behind him, probably telling him to _hurry the fuck up_ , so Sendak just let out an annoyed huff and retreated. 

Red watched the two of them plus their partner go into the bank, lips curled downward disapprovingly, before sighing and leaning back in his seat. From his coat pocket he pulled out his ancient iPod, lovingly smoothing his fingers across the screen, canvassing the many bumps and ridges and the memories they represented. 

Then he scrolled through his playlist, perusing it for something to get him in the mood. 

_Running on Ice_ , he decided, because sometimes he felt like it was a metaphor for his life. He hit play, and began drumming his fingers on the wheel in time with the piano and the drum. Billy Joel’s voice began belting through the speakers, and Red mouthed the words as they filtered through his headphones. 

_There’s a lot of tension in this town..._

He glanced over at the bank’s window, and lost his rhythm for a second when he saw the blaze of guns. He caught a brief look at Haggar’s face mask, a grotesque, bloody grin painted on black fabric. Red could almost imagine Sendak’s booming laughter. 

_Sometimes I feel as though I’m running on ice! ___

____

Red shook himself a little, and began belting the chorus, slamming his hands on the outside of the steering wheel as the drum fills played in the background.

_“I’m slip’n sliding ‘cause I’m running on ice!”_

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention; Red looked over, and saw the the action in the bank had mostly died down. He couldn’t see Haggar, Sendak or what’s-his-face anymore--but a second later they burst from the doors, carrying seven bags between them. Sendak was ripping off his own face mask, and though Red couldn't hear him, his lips were clearly screaming, _go, go, go!_

Show time.

Red gunned the engine a few times, absentmindedly scrolling through his playlist as he did so. Most of his attention was focused on the siren of the police cars, which barely reached him through the ending lines of _Running on Ice_. He felt more than saw when he reached _Highway Star_ , and the second he felt the backdoor fly open he hit play. 

Well, he hit the gas, too, but that was irrelevant. 

The screaming of the lead singer perfectly matched the scream of the engine as they accelerated backwards down the street. A police car careened around the corner and for a second they were nose to nose, glaring each other down.

Red waited for it-- 

_Chang, chang_ went the guitar--

He whipped the car around, sending the passengers into the doors, knowing that he was probably missing a lot of panicked screaming from the back. He didn’t care, though; Deep Purple was roaring in his ears, and the world was a perfect smear of too loud music and the road in front of him.

_Nobody gonna take my car, we’re gonna race it to the grooounnd…_

God, he hated this job. But he did so love the driving. 

The police were hot on his trail, but Red’s driving was hotter. They flew through greasy neighborhoods, down darkened alleyways and through red lights. Sendak’s hand reached over and grabbed Red’s arm at some point, a panicked move that made him jump and nearly lose his concentration.

Red somehow got them around to the highway, three cop cars still on his tail. He took stock of his surroundings, pursed his lips at the nearest exit, and then--

\--he sped across three lanes, then careened around the front of a semi-truck, an impossible maneuver that put them in an exit going the wrong way. Adrenaline buzzed in his system, like a drug, and he grinned involuntarily.

That took care of the cops chasing him on the ground. Red slipped seamlessly between cars as they honked and screamed obscenities at him, and eventually slid into a U-turn that put them back in the right lane.

_Alright, hold tight, I’m a highway star!_

He glanced up, just for a second. There was a helicopter above them, tracking their movements, but--

Red glanced around, and spotted two other cherry red cars that looked almost exactly like his. About a mile ahead was an overpass, a pretty long one at that.

Perfect. Just in time for the guitar solo.

Red calmly moseyed to the middle of the two red cars, who were miraculously going the exact same speed. He felt a little bad about doing this, but--well. If they were caught, they should be fine.

As soon as they went under the overpass, Red hit the breaks and twisted the wheel to one side, coming up and around the car on his right. He winced apologetically as he came up around the other side, and forced the other car into the middle lane with some jostling and an irritated honk.

They came out of the overpass still side-by-side, only now Red was on the far right. He heaved a sigh of relief--that had been a risky move, but it looked like he was in the clear.

But then he narrowed his eyes as two cop cars screeched onto the highway, the lights on their tops flashing a kaleidoscope of red and blue. He didn’t know whether or not his ruse had worked on them, but...he decided to take a chance, and gently eased their car onto the next exit. His heart pounded in his chest, though Red barely noticed it above the pounding of the bass.

The two cars flew by him, completely oblivious to the fact that they were now chasing the wrong person. Red sighed softly in relief, and finally allowed his fingers to relax, shifting them gently over the steering wheel. There was still an electric buzz in his system, dangerous and heady, though he knew he’d feel the crash later.

Suddenly he remembered that there were other people in the car. One look at Sendak told him that the older man was fine, if a little tense. Then he glanced in the rearview mirror, taking sight of the two in the back seat. Haggar looked largely unaffected, except for a sickly pallor on her usually darkly tanned skin, but the other guy--Red didn’t know his name--looked ready to throw up. 

Red barely withheld a grin, the thrumming in his chest slowing to its usual cadence.

By the time they rolled into the parking lot that held their backup car, the adrenaline had faded completely from his system, leaving him shaky and lightheaded. He removed one bud from his ear, ignoring the soft ringing, and finally unclenched his fingers from the wheel.

“I’m driving back.” Sendak muttered, throwing open his door and getting to his feet with a barely noticeable wobble. In complete contrast, the other partner--Haxus, that was his name--practically spilled out onto the parking lot, looking a little too green for comfort.

Red sighed softly and got out on his side, giving the red car a gentle pat before leaving it behind. He had a special place in his heart for red cars, and this one had handled particularly well.

Then he turned a hard look toward the blue car a few feet away, a feeling of dread sinking into the pit of his stomach. This car--it looked like a prison. It was a prison, albeit a prison on wheels.

Back to Zarkon, then.

\-----------------------------------------------

Scene Playlist:

Running on Ice - Billy Joel  
Highway Star - Deep Purple

\---------------------------------------------------

By the time Red got back to the hideout with everyone’s coffees, Zarkon had already divvied up the money, and they were now complaining bitterly about the job. Well, not the job itself--Red’s driving, specifically (which was unfair, as Red was the only reason they’d made it out of that one). As Red set Haxus’s cup in front of him, he could feel that the other man was directing questions at him--biting, intrusive, invasive.

However, Red was too busy listening to _Budapest_ by George Ezra to care. He set Haggar’s cup down in front of her-- _thump, thump_ went the percussion--and retreated to the back of the room. At least he could be certain that Haggar would never ask any probing questions; as Zarkon’s right hand man, she already knew everything about his...situation. She had been there from the beginning, after all

 _Give me one good reason why I should never make a change…_ He mouthed along with the words, staring absentmindedly at the wall as he tapped his fingers in time with the guitar. The conversation in the background rose and fell, but he ignored it completely. 

Something else had been holding his attention recently, after all.

Blue eyes. A splash of freckles, like stars. _Dimples._ And a voice that Red could listen to all day...

_For you, yoooou, you, yoooou, I’d leave it all…_

He had introduced Red to this song--the waiter. He had walked into work one day, chunky headphones on his ears, humming it under his breath, and--

Red couldn’t have helped it. He had scoured the internet restlessly for that song, and when he’d found it, he’d immediately downloaded it. Now, he couldn’t stop listening to it.

He was snapped down to reality when someone ripped out one of his earbuds, half of the sound disappearing like the crack of thunder.The happy bubble he’d made for himself, with just him, his music, and the blue-eyed waiter, popped. Red jumped, startled, his heartbeat ratcheting up as he looked around for his mysterious assailant.

It was just Sendak--of course it was Sendak. Sendak was one of Zarkon’s men; he hadn’t been around for as long as Haggar had, but he had been around long enough. Long enough to get curious about Red and start asking unwelcome questions, trying to coax information out of the younger teen.

Like right now.

“--a scowl on your face, Red.” Sendak was saying, though Red had apparently missed the first part due to his panicking.

“W-What?” Red asked, leaning away from the older man, trying to put some space between them.

Sendak frowned, then turned around and shouted to Zarkon, “Are you sure this kid isn’t retarded or something?”

Red flinched back even more, his face deepening into a dark scowl, wishing he could put the earbud back in. Wishing he was in the diner, going through his music, slurping down some coffee. Wishing he could see those ocean-blue eyes again. Wishing to be anywhere but here.

“Who knows?” Zarkon responded dismissively, not looking up from the wads of cash on the table. “As long as he can drive, I don’t care.”

Sendak snorted and turned back to Red, lowering himself so they were eye-to-eye. He picked up the discarded earbud and put it in, lowering his gaze for a moment as he listened. Then his eyes widened, and he looked up. “You like George Ezra?”

Feeling a little wary, Red nodded. His hands twitched, eager to retrieve his other earbud, antsy to see it in someone like Sendak’s hands. To keep himself from reaching out and snatching it away, he curled his fingers in the sleeves of his black hoodie.

Unexpectedly, a wide grin broke out on Sendak’s face. For the first time ever, he looked almost friendly. “I like Ezra too.” Then, even more surprising, he grabbed a nearby chair and rolled it next to Red, settling down in his seat with a satisfied sigh. “You got any--you know.” He gestured. “Chase music?”

It took a second for that to click, but when it did, Red’s scowl softened into a small, feral smile. “Depends on the day.” And though he was unwilling to talk about himself as a person, he was always open to sharing music. He took out his iPod and began scrolling through his playlist while Sendak looked on curiously.

 _Highway Star_ replaced the mellow notes of _Budapest_ , and this time both Red and Sendak began tapping their feet in time with the intro.

“This was today?” Sendak asked.

Red grinned and nodded.

They had only gotten through the first half of the song, though, when Zarkon closed his black leather bag and shouted, “Red!” He was using his Commanding voice, which made Red jump halfway out of his skin. “It’s time to go!”

Sendak looked almost disappointed, but nonetheless he sighed and untangled the earbud from his ear and gave it back to Red. “Guess I’ll catch you later, kid.”

Uncertainly, Red nodded at him. That had been really weird, yet almost...nice. Sendak was like that sometimes; acted like he was almost...indulging Red, and his weird habits. Red knew better, though; even if Sendak acted like a nice guy sometimes, he had a mean streak the size of the Grand Canyon. 

Whatever. It wasn’t his problem to figure out the intricacies of Zarkon’s men. 

Red turned down the volume on his iPod and waited for Zarkon to pass by, accepting one of the bags of money as he did so. He slipped out of the door just behind Zarkon, following the other man like the loyal shadow he pretended to be. They walked in silence until they got to Zarkon’s car, and only after they stuffed the bags into the backseat did Zarkon turn to him.

“Here’s your cut for the day.” Zarkon said, pulling one of the wads of cash from his pocket and giving it to Red. “Don’t spend it all in one place.” 

Red accepted it silently, then waited, shoulders tense. 

“You have three jobs left before you finally pay off your debt.” Zarkon growled, his mouth folding into a dry smirk. “Or, well, your mother’s."

Red winced at the reminder, suddenly not able to hold Zarkon’s gaze. He glanced to the side, pressing his lips together, hoping that he would finally get dismissed soon. Zarkon’s presence was too big, too dangerous; just being near him made Red tense up with remembered pain. The music blared quietly in his ears, too soft to create any sort of comfort for him. 

“Here’s your new burner phone.” Zarkon said, and Red jumped a little when a pristine white flip phone intruded into his field of vision. “Don’t lose it.” 

Red took the phone, and put his old one in Zarkon’s outstretched hand. Still, he waited. 

Zarkon stared back for a moment, his gaze unreadable. But the longer Red looked at him, the more he thought that the older man’s gaze was...questioning. Or like he was waiting for something. 

Red wasn’t good enough at social cues to figure out what he was waiting for, though. He was just tired, and hungry, and the thought of visiting the blue-eyed waiter made his heart flutter in anticipation. 

Finally Zarkon sighed, and waved him off. “Go, Red.”

Red whipped around and practically bolted for the cherry red motorcycle parked at the other end of the garage. As he jogged over, he shucked his black hoodie, folding it over his arm and leaving him in just his black T-shirt. When he got to his bike he opened up his pack, pulled out his red biking jacket and his knife, and tossed his other garment inside. The pack snapped shit with a soft _click_.

Then, he turned the volume on his iPod all the way up, so loud that the bass made his ears thrum almost painfully. The selection had changed to _You Give Love a Bad Name_ while he hadn’t been paying attention, and he paused for a second, grinning widely at the atmosphere it created. It sounded reckless and wild. _He_ felt reckless and wild.

He had his father’s jacket on his back, his mother’s knife at his waist, and his music blaring in his ears. He felt like himself again.

Red put on his helmet, revved his engine, and peeled away from the parking lot.

\-----------------------------

Scene playlist:

Budapest - George Ezra  
You Give Love a Bad Name - The Eagles

\----------------------------

 _“Everybody gets high sometimes, you know…”_ Lance sang as he threw open the doors to the diner, swaying his hips in time with the music. His enormous, funky headphones engulfed his ears, blocking out the rest of the world, making it easier for him to get lost in the rhythm.

 _Cold Water’s_ beats had him sashaying over the tiles toward the back room, though now that he was inside he brought his voice down to a low hum. Last time he had come in belting his music, Pidge had given him an evil look that threatened doom and destruction. He didn’t think that she would actually do anything too bad, of course, but he wasn’t one to take chances.

Lance eased through the doors and into the kitchen, gracefully slipping around the cooks and dishwashers and into the employee break room. He removed his coat and hung it up, but kept standing at the rack, unwilling to take off his headphones before the song finished. He hated leaving a song unfinished.

Just then, Lance jumped at barely noticeable tap on his arm. When Lance saw who it was, however, he relaxed, waving a greeting at Hunk, whose eyebrows were raised in amusement. His best friend gestured toward his ears, clearly asking if he would take off his headphones.

“Aw, Hunk…” He whined, though he could barely hear himself over MØ’s solo. “It’s almost done, I promise!”

Hunk began speaking, then frowned when he realized that Lance couldn’t hear him. He looked around for a second, probably checking for their manager, before shrugging and folding his arms across his chest. Clearly, he had decided to accept the defeat, rather than try and argue with Lance further.

Lance grinned at him sunnily, feeling warm and content. He reached out, took a surprised Hunk’s hands in his own, and began twirling him around the break room, _“I won’t let go!”_ He sang softly, while Hunk sputtered incoherently. _“I’ll be your lifeline tonight!”_

Finally, the music wound down. Lance let go of Hunk and lifted his headphones from his ears, cheeks hurting from the size of his grin.

“Are you happy now?” Hunk asked, folding his arms back over his chest. Clearly Lance’s enthusiasm was contagious, though, because he was doing a very poor job of looking disapproving. “You know if you’re late to work because you’re listening to music, Sal is definitely going to fire you."

Ah, Hunk. Ever the worrier. “Don’t worry about it, Hunk.” Lance said, folding his MP3 player lovingly into the pocket of his coat. “It’s only a minute or two. He’s not going to care about that.”

“I guess.” Hunk responded doubtfully, but said nothing more, probably deciding to let it slide.

When Lance turned around again, he paused at the almost mischievous look on his friend’s face. “What is it?”

Hunk smirked a little at him. “That mystery boy of yours is here again.”

Lance’s eyes widened, already excited at the prospect of meeting the guy again.

Lance had only been working at the diner for a few months--Hunk had recommended him for the position after Lance had lost his last job--but since the beginning, Mystery Guy had been a constant fixture. According to Hunk, Mystery Guy had been coming here even before Hunk had started working, which was around three years now. In that time, even Hunk had failed to get his name, which was amazing, considering Hunk was an actual lovable teddy bear. More than one person had come to the teen with secrets they didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone else.

In the few months that Lance had been working here, Mystery Guy had barely said a word to him, besides, ‘thank you’, and ‘coffee with soy milk and one sugar’. And it was a rule in Lance’s world that the more mysterious something was, the more interested Lance was in it. Therefore, Mystery Guy was Very Interesting.

(Plus, Lance had tried that soy milk and coffee mixture--it was disgusting. Truly, the person who could enjoy such a thing was a different species of human being indeed.

“When did he get here?” Lance asked, pinning his name tag on his black shirt, smoothing back his hair with his hands. 

Amused at his friend’s antics, Hunk shook his head. “Not too long ago. He hasn’t even ordered yet.”

Lance turned to Hunk, unexpectedly touched.“You waited for me? You shouldn’t have.” He patted Hunk’s cheek. “You spoil me.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can do me a favor in return later.” Hunk smiled warmly at him, and Lance knew better than anyone that there was no way Hunk was going to make him do anything. Then he grabbed Lance by the shoulders and guided him out of the break room and back into the kitchen. “Now go talk to him! Really talk to him! It’s your chance.”

Lance took a deep breath to steady himself, set his shoulders, and walked out into the diner. 

Mystery Guy was where he always was, the only occupant of a four person booth, which made him look all the lonelier. He was wearing his signature red biking jacket, and a pair of shades were folded up on the table in front of him. He was fiddling with a tape recorder in his hands, seemingly going through the files and doing...something with them. 

Though today, Lance noticed, something was different.

Normally, Mystery Guy had both earbuds in his ears, making it hard to actually communicate with him. More often than not, Lance would make a searching, mild comment, and Mystery Guy would respond with a soft grunt or a ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

Today, however, he only had one earbud in, the other hanging below the table. Not only that, it was the earbud closest to Lance, which--it felt like an invitation. It felt like Red was asking for Lance to speak to him today, like maybe he would get a response for once. 

Feeling a little giddy, Lance approached the table, notepad at the ready. 

“Hey there, stranger.” Lance said cheerfully. “The usual today?”

Mystery Guy looked up at him for a second, eyes distant, then looked back to his tape recorder. Lance was just getting around to feeling disappointed--probably he had read the situation wrong, that was fine, whatever--when Mystery Guy did a double take. He blinked at Lance a little, appearing almost startled, before vanishing his tape recorder into his pocket.

“Hi.” Mystery Guy said, and his expression looked like it couldn’t decide what emotion to settle on. “Uh. Yeah, the usual.”

Lance dutifully wrote down _coffee, sm+1s_ , and said, “You know, I don’t understand how you can stand the taste of soy milk in coffee.” It was a non-intrusive conversation starter, mild enough that Mystery Guy could grunt and shrug noncommittally if he really wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Mystery Guy’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, looking a little like a startled deer in bright headlights. His hands flexed on the table, opening and closing uncertainly. He hesitated for a moment, licking his lips, and Lance held his breath-

“I--lactose intolerant.” It was almost too quiet to hear, and Mystery Guy breathed out heavily through his nose. Louder this time, he said, “I’m...lactose intolerant."

Startled at this answer, it took Lance a second to respond. When he did, though, his mouth split into a wide, triumphant smile, and he practically crowed, “So you _do_ talk!"

Immediately he wished he could take that back; Mystery Guy was either extremely shy or extremely reserved, and drawing attention to his reticence might make him self-conscious. Hell, Lance didn’t even know whether or not Mystery Guy liked joking around--he might take Lance’s comment the wrong way and get offended.

But instead of getting annoyed, or looking sheepish, Mystery Guy snorted in amusement and sent Lance a dry smile. “Sometimes.”

Delighted that the other guy had actually responded positively, Lance leaned against the table, tilting his head. “Is that the reason you always have your headphones in? Because you don’t want to talk?”

Mystery Guy’s smirk faded, and once again uncertainty took over his features. “Ah, no.” His fingers began tapping on the table, something fast and unrecognizable. “I was in an accident when I was a kid. Now I have…” He waved a hand next to his ear. “Tinnitus. The music, it--it helps.”

Well, if that didn’t make things horrendously awkward.

“O-Oh.” Lance said, feeling like an insensitive ass, even though he couldn’t have known. “I’m...sorry to hear that.”

Mystery Guy shrugged, his gaze tracking back to the table, jaw set in a tense line. It was pretty obvious that even though he acted pretty flippant about the whole thing, it still affected him. “It’s no big deal. It happened a long time ago.” 

Lance nodded mechanically. “I’ll just...go get your coffee.”

By the time Lance got back to the table, Mystery Guy had regrouped, the cageyness from earlier gone. He was watching Lance very closely with bright grey eyes, tracking his movements as he set the coffee on the table with a soft _clink_. The one earbud was still missing, too, which made Lance sigh quietly in relief. Clearly he must not have screwed things up too badly if Mystery Guy was still willing to talk.

“That song you were singing earlier,” Mystery Guy said randomly, “What is it?”

It took Lance a second to react, still getting over the novelty of Mystery Guy actually talking to him for once. Then he looked over the counter and into the kitchen, locating Sal first, and then Hunk. His friend flashed him a thumbs up, and Lance grinned--Hunk was going to keep Sal occupied for a little bit. Excellent.

Lance slid into the seat across from Mystery Guy, leaning forward conspiratorially. Mystery Guy copied him after a moment, eyeing the kitchen like he was trying to figure out what Lance had been looking for earlier. 

“It was _Cold Water_ ,” Lance said, flicking his hair from his face. “By Major Lazer.”

Mystery Guy was staring at him, eyes big; this close, Lance realized that his earlier assumption, that the guy’s eyes were grey, was wrong. They had a grey hue, certainly, but they were flecked with notes of dark blue, making them an almost indigo color. They were _very_ pretty.

“I-I see.” Those entrancing grey eyes blinked rapidly, then glanced down at the table, seemingly unable to form words.

Lance watched him for a second, admiring the sharp cut of his jaw, the sweeping line of his fringe. Despite looking a little gross from a distance--his hair often had an unpleasant, oily sheen--Mystery Guy was actually a lot cuter close up. 

“You--” Mystery Guy tried again, looking earnestly into Lance’s face, “Your singing is--beautiful.”

Lance had received many compliments from people before, many of them unwanted. On the other hand, he had handed out plenty of innocent compliments; flirting came so naturally to him, he had never gotten embarrassed about it before.

He couldn’t explain why that seemingly innocuous, awkward comment made a flush rise to his cheeks. Maybe it was the pure honesty on Mystery Guy’s face; maybe it was the obvious effort it had taken to say it. Whatever it was, Lance had never felt so flustered by something in his entire lifetime.

“T-Thank you.” Lance responded, resisting the urge to cover his face with his hands like a teenage girl. Eager to change the subject back onto solid ground, he quickly reached across the table and said, with feigned confidence. “By the way, we’ve never been properly introduced, have we? I’m Lance.”

Mystery Guy blinked as though confused, lips parted slightly. Then he very quickly removed his hand from the confines of his hoodie and took Lance’s, grip firm and calloused. “Red. It’s Red.”

Lance’s eyebrows went up-- _Red, like the color?_ \--and he opened his mouth to ask--

“Lance!” Sal screamed from the kitchen. “Stop talking to the customers and actually do your job!"

Lance cursed under his breath--they had been doing so _well_ , too--and let go of Red’s hand, getting to his feet. He made a split second decision, and leaned over the table so he could grab a napkin from the napkin holder at the end of the table. Red watched the proceedings with wide eyes, hand still half-hovering over the table.

Lance quickly scribbled a note on the napkin, his tongue poking out from between his teeth as he wrote. He capped his pen, folded the napkin, and slid it over the table so it was right in front of Red. “If you want to meet up,” He said, trying not to appear too nervous, “I get off work today at six."

Red looked up at him, wide-eyed, as though he’d never heard something so strange in his life. 

_“Lance!”_ Sal bellowed.

“Coming!” Lance shouted back. The other customers in the diner were beginning to look around, bunch of gossip mongers. He turned back to Red, and sent him a wink and a wide grin.“Catch you later, Red.”

As Lance passed by Hunk into the kitchen, he grinned. “ _So_ worth it.”

\------------------

Scene playlist:

Cold Water - Major Lazer

Also note: Tinnitus is a physical condition, experienced as noises or ringing in the ears or head when no such external physical noise is present. It is usually caused by a fault in the hearing system; it is a symptom, not a disease in itself. The word "tinnitus" means "tinkling or ringing like a bell". I stole this from the movie. 

\------------------

Red practically floated through his front door, his eyes fixed on the napkin in his hands. Or, more specifically, the cell phone number scribbled on it in big, looping print.

_“Catch you later, Red.”_

Red closed the door, then turned around and propped himself up against the wall. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes and pushing the napkin into his chest, reliving the moment as best he could. The waiter’s name was Lance. He had ocean-blue eyes that were even prettier up close than they were far away, and, and-- _dimples_. Who knew that Red’s weakness would be dimples?

_My hands are shaking, don’t let my heart keep breakin’ ‘cause...._

The soft, goopy feelings in Red’s chest were made all the meltier by the mellow tones of Herb Alpert. He didn’t often listen to softer, jazzier stuff, but right now he didn’t think he could handle anything too exciting. Just the thought of Lance and his star-map of freckles made his knees weak and shaky.

He had thought he’d made a total fool of himself in there--honestly, _“Your singing is beautiful”?_ \--but Lance had seemed almost...charmed by him. So he couldn’t have done too badly. Either that, or Lance had just taken pity on Red and his awkward attempts at flirting.

Red sighed as the band faded out, the trumpet singing its final notes almost too softly to make out. He opened his eyes, feeling as though he’d just come back to earth from a trip to the moon. Did their conversation really go that well? Had Red really not made a fool of himself, or--or--

He had been so distracted up until that moment, it was only just then that Red realized that the TV was on. 

Red stared at the news in mute surprise, not really taking in anything other than the flashing of bright lights and changing colors. He hadn’t realized that he’d left it on this morning; usually he was good about making sure everything was off. And generally he didn’t watch the news; more often than not he had it on a music station channel. What was--

And that was when Red realized that there was someone else in his apartment, sitting on his couch. 

Red jumped about a mile, jamming the napkin into his pocket and scrambling for his knife, cursing himself for losing track of his surroundings. He had completely forgotten who he worked for, how could he forget that because he worked for Zarkon, he was a danger magnet? Damn Lance and his dimples, and his winking and _gorgeous smile_ \--

Then Red stopped, tilting his head, staring at the person still seated on his couch. That tuft of white hair was...awfully familiar.

Oh. 

Red sighed, loudly enough that he knew the other man could hear his exasperation. He put away his blade and stomped over to the record player, carefully placing _A Night at the Opera_ on the platter. He gently set the needle on the record, and watched mulishly to make sure that it started playing before removing his earbuds. 

Only then did he turn around, fixing the motionless figure with a dark scowl. “Shiro.”

“Red.” Shirogane Takashi responded neutrally, his very being radiating disapproval. 

Red glanced at the news, and winced a little when he realized what they were reporting about. The bright red car which he’d driven just a few hours earlier was featured on the screen; the scene was frozen on them careening around a corner. He could barely make out his dark hoodie and black shades, though luckily his face was too blurry to see properly. No wonder Shiro was so pissed.

“Shiro--” Red began.

Shiro turned around, jaw set, eyes dark and stormy. Red automatically flinched away from him and looked down, feeling very small and guilty. He hated it when Shiro got this mad, because he couldn’t help it, it wasn’t like it was his choice to be Zarkon’s fucking driver--

Red heard Shiro sigh, and when he looked up again, the older man was dragging his prosthetic hand through his hair. He looked twice as old as he usually did, shoulders drooping like they had some heavy weight pressed into them.

“I’m sorry, Red.” Shiro said softly, getting to his feet. “It’s just--” He gestured at the TV. “I hate to see you do this. This isn’t...you.”

“It’s not like I have much of a damn choice.” Red responded defiantly, lifting his head, challenging Shiro to argue with him.

For a second he thought Shiro might take the bait, might start trying to convince him to try and get out again. Which as much as Red would like to, escape hadn’t worked the first fifty times he’d tried. Zarkon had too much of the city under his thumb, including the majority of the police. The one time Shiro had arrested him, Red had been out within twenty-four hours, and then he’d been punished for getting caught.

 _That_ was a experience he was not eager to repeat.

But Shiro just shook his head, defeated, and said, “I don’t want to fight today, Red. Just sit down.”

Relieved, Red nodded and hopped over the back of the couch, landing comfortably on his back. _Death on Two Legs_ was a loud, rhythmic backdrop to their conversation, and Red began tapping his feet in time with the guitar. He had lots of favorite Queen songs, but without a doubt _A Night at the Opera_ was his favorite album. 

“Now.” Shiro began, settling on the other side of the couch. “Why don’t you tell me why you were sighing against the door earlier?”

Red stopped tapping his foot, his cheeks going from cool to burning in approximately .2 seconds. Almost as if on cue, the cheerful _plink_ of the piano cut in, _Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon_ seemingly oblivious to Red’s mortification. He hadn’t realized that Shiro had been paying attention to that!

Red shifted uncomfortably, wishing the couch would open up and swallow him whole. Just remembering himself pining--and there was no denying it, Red had definitely been pining--was embarrassing enough. But the fact that Shiro had witnessed it--

Shiro was staring at him now, eyebrows raised, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Red...does this have something to do with that barista?”

“No!” Red snapped, then covered his face in his hands. “...maybe.” He muttered.

“Come on, Red.” Shiro said chidingly. “You’ve only been waxing poetic about him for the past few months, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Dimples.” Red muttered under his breath. “Why did it have to be dimples.”

But Shiro was still waiting patiently, and Red kind of _had_ put him through a lot the last couple months. He lowered his hands, peering over his fingertips at Shiro hesitantly. The man looked as welcoming and cheerful as ever, his face naturally relaxing into a gentle smile.

“Um.” He began. “I’m--I’m meeting him. Tonight.”

He covered his face again with his hands, not willing to look at Shiro. 

“Yes!” Shiro shouted, and excited hands grabbed his shoulders and started shaking him exuberantly. “Tell me more, tell me more!"

“Alright, alright!” Red shouted back, batting away the older man’s hands, but grinning all the while. He sprawled back onto the couch, smiling lazily as he spoke. “His name is Lance. He’s got the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. And dimples.”

Shiro looked far too happy, considering the fact that Lance and Red weren’t even dating yet. They were just...having an innocent meetup. So they could...he didn’t know, talk about. Stuff.

Oh god.

He was having a date.

While Red wrestled with this life-changing realization, Shiro continued to look at him with that same sappy expression on his face. He said, with unexpected gentleness, “I’m really happy for you, Red. It sounds like he’s a really great guy.”

On that point they were in agreement. “Oh, he is.” Red said, nodding swiftly and leaning forward a little. “He’s charming, and he’s got an _amazing_ singing voice. You know when he walked into the diner today, he was--”

Then he broke off, noticing the way Shiro’s eyebrows were making a getaway toward the ceiling. He looked away guiltily, suddenly realizing that he was chattering Shiro’s ear off, again.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“No, it’s fine.” Shiro said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve just--I’ve never seen you this smitten with someone, Red. It’s...nice.” He smiled. “It suits you.”

Red felt color bloom in his cheeks; Shiro didn’t know the half of it, and Red wasn’t about to inform him. When he’d been a teen, a kid really, still bursting at the seams and raring for a chance to get himself killed, he’d met Shiro. Shiro had just started out as a cop, fresh-faced and naive to the ways of the city. He had talked to Red like he could save him, could get him away from Zarkon and from the life.

Red had promptly fallen hard for the older man and his pretty words. It had taken him a really long time to get over Shiro, but he had. Sometimes he still got an ache in his chest, an ache for what could never have been, but nothing more.

“I guess.” Red muttered instead, curling his fingers into his pants.

“So…” Shiro trailed off, his expression fading from happy to oddly...pensive. He opened his mouth, closed it, glanced away...and then shook his head. Red watched the process, a little bewildered, and was even more bewildered when the smile returned. Shiro then asked, “Are you going to get changed?”

Red glanced down at his red Converse, black jeans, black shirt, and bright red biking jacket. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” He asked, curiously.

Shiro stared at him for a moment blankly. Then he let out a sigh, head lolling backward. “Oh boy.”

\------------------------------

Scene Playlist: 

This Guy’s In Love With You - Herb Alpert  
A Night at the Opera (Album) - Queen

\-------------------------------

By the time 6 rolled around, Lance felt as though he was buzzing out of his own skin due to nerves. It didn’t help that someone was playing some tense, nerve-wracking song over the radio. He didn’t even know what it was.

“Can you calm down?” Pidge muttered as he passed by, messing with something on the cash register. “You’re giving me second-hand anxiety.” 

“Sorry, Pidge.” Lance said, forcing his lips into a grin while his fingers drummed, agitated, on the counter. Not for the first time he wished that Hunk was here; his best friend always knew how to calm him down, without fail. However, Hunk had clocked out a couple hours earlier, so now it was just him, Pidge, Shay, and Sal. “Just--tell me if a guy with black hair and grey eyes walks in? I’m going to go get my coat.”

Pidge looked up from the cash register, her expression a little incredulous. “Wait, you’re going on a date with Mystery Guy?”

Well, it seemed as though news traveled very quickly in this diner. Or more appropriately, Hunk’s lips were very loose. He wasn’t mad that Hunk didn’t keep secrets very well--not anymore, at least--but it was still a little disconcerting for his love life to be on display like that. 

“His name is Red.” Lance corrected easily, smiling at the thought of the slightly awkward yet bluntly honest young man.

“How’d you get his name?” Pidge asked curiously, jamming a pen between her teeth and rolling it around. Lance winced at the sight; more than one pen had exploded in Pidge’s mouth because of that same habit. “Hunk’s been trying for _ages._ ”

Lance shrugged at the question, still a little uncertain about the whole thing himself. “I...don’t know, actually. He had one of his earbuds out, and when I started talking to him…” He gestured aimlessly. “He responded.”

Pidge sniffed. “I see. He probably just thinks you’re cute.”

A flush crawled up his face, and he bristled a little; he wasn’t sure if Pidge was wrong, exactly, but the stress was getting to him. He was raring to get in a little verbal sparring match with the shorter girl.

It was just then that the door chimed, and Red walked in.

The expression on his face was twice as awkward as it usually was, but this was offset by what he was wearing. Rather than the normal black T-shirt under red biking jacket, like Lance had been half expecting, he was wearing a red plaid button up over a white shirt and black skinny jeans. It wasn’t a huge change, granted, but it was different than his usual outfit, which made it interesting.

“Hey, Red.” Lance smiled sunnily at him, while Pidge adjusted her glasses in his direction, in full observation mode.

In contrast, Red’s mouth was an almost embarrassed slash; he had to untangle his fingers from his headphone cord before he could wave in return. He hesitated for a second, before removing one of the buds from his ears and approaching the register.

“Hi.” He said, nodding in Pidge’s direction coolly, before turning to Lance. “Do you still want to…?”

“Oh, definitely.” Lance responded quickly, before realizing that he’d completely forgotten to go grab his coat. Sheepishly, he continued, “One second, I just need to get my coat and clock out. Do you mind waiting?”

Red rocked back on his heels, glancing at Pidge a little warily, but eventually nodding his head in assent.

Lance felt a little bad about leaving him alone with the teenager--Pidge was as nosy as she was intelligent--but he didn’t really have a choice. It was starting to get chilly outside, and he didn’t fancy the idea of leaving his MP3 player where it could get stolen. So he hurried in the direction of the break room, determined to only be a few seconds.

He shouldn’t have worried, though. Pidge and Red were very similar in that they were both a bit like skittish cats; it took them a while to warm up to other people.

So when he returned, the atmosphere was...awkward, yes, but not tense in the sense that they’d said anything rude to each other. They both looked simultaneously relieved when Lance showed up, however, which made him chuckle a little under his breath. Such was the danger of having two introverted people in the same room.

“Sorry for the wait.” Lance said, and then turned to wave goodbye to Pidge. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Have fun!” Pidge called back.

Just before the door closed, however, Lance heard her swear loudly. So the pen had finally exploded.

“She seems...nice.” Red ventured. 

Lance seized the conversation topic eagerly. “Oh yeah, Pidge is like a little sister to me. We’ve known each other for years.”

Red hummed quietly in response, a bare acknowledgement that didn’t leave any room for further comments. Lance frowned a little as the awkward silence, the one he’d been so worried about earlier, descended over them. 

They walked that way for a couple seconds, Red seemingly distracted by his own breath condensing in the air, Lance biting his lip, searching for something to talk about.

“So…” He began after a moment, “Where exactly are we going, anyway? I never asked what you wanted to do…”

“Oh!” Red said, looking first startled, and then embarrassed. “I never said, did I?”

“You have somewhere in mind?” Lance asked curiously. He hadn’t known what to expect, especially considering that their little get together was kind of spur-of-the-moment.

“There’s a--a coffee shop that I go to, sometimes.” Red ducked his head and pressed his lips together, a move that was almost endearing. “I know it’s kind of late, but they sell, you know...sandwiches and stuff…” He looked up, suddenly determined. “I can buy you dinner.”

Lance mulled that over for a second, before smiling and saying, “That sounds great, I’d love to.” Besides, it wasn’t like he had any better ideas. Dinner and coffee in a swanky cafe sounded nice, and such a relaxed setting might help with conversation. But-- “You don’t have to pay for my dinner, though. I’d feel guilty.”

Red waved him off, a little dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. I can pay for it.” 

“You can?” Lance asked, almost amused by the curt response. “What is it you do, exactly?” 

“I’m…” Red glanced sideways, narrowing his eyes in thought. “A driver.” He decided eventually. 

“A driver?” He felt surprised by that--but no, he shouldn’t have been. Driving suited the odd, red-clad teen. It would certainly explain the biking jacket and fingerless gloves he always sported. “Like a taxi driver? I wasn’t aware that they were especially well-paid.”

Red’s expression went dry. “Not usually, no. But I have an unusual clientele."

An _unusual clientele_? What did that even mean? Lance glanced at Red sideways, but the guy was as unreadable as ever.

Lance’s smile started slow and ended in a haphazard curl. “An unusual clientele? That sounds ominous. Anyone I would know?”

And just like that, the tension returned a little to Red’s jaw. “I sure hope not.” But before the atmosphere got awkward again, he rallied himself and turned back to Lance. “What about you? I know you got to the diner a few months ago, but...where were you before then?”

Lance almost walked past Red when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out the reason for the abrupt halt, but then Red was opening the door next to them. He hadn’t even noticed when they’d arrived at the cafe, a darkly colored little shop that blended into the stores next to it.

Lance nodded his thank you as he stepped inside, unraveling his scarf from his neck and looking around, fascinated. It had low lighting, half cast in shadow, but it somehow didn’t come off as creepy; rather, the squishy armchairs in one corner and high tables in the other made it appear almost cozy. 

Red appeared at his side, looking around the shop as though he was seeing it for the first time. “It’s…” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s a little dark, I guess…”

“No, it’s fine.” Lance responded quickly, smiling reassuringly at Red. He put on airs, pompously holding onto the sides of his coat. “I like the _ambiance_.” 

Red’s face was blank for a moment--but then ducked his head, and a couple soft huffs escaped him. If Lance didn’t know better, he’d say that the other guy was laughing, and he ducked his head too, trying to get a better look. 

Red looked up at him, peering up through his dark fringe with a wide smile. The mirth on his face transformed him; where before he’d looked neutral and sharp, a silent _don’t talk to me_ written into the fabric of his being, now he just looked...soft. He looked adorable.

“That was--” Red shook his head. “Ridiculous."

“Made you laugh, though.” Lance responded, grinning, as they made their way over to one of the couches.

Red’s face dropped into a scowl. “No, it didn’t.”

Delighted by this display of obstinacy, Lance flopped onto one of the couches, his limbs going everywhere in a disorganized sprawl. “Are you sure?” He drawled lazily, “Because that definitely sounded like a laugh to me.”

After a second, Red settled, with a little more grace, onto the seat next to him, arms folded across his chest. Lance’s delight increased tenfold when he realized that Red was _pouting_ at him. Oh, that was just too precious.

“A-Anyway.” Red said, clearly eager to change the subject. “I believe I asked you a question, earlier.”

Lance considered teasing him a little more, just because it was fun to see him flustered rather than apathetic and scowling. He decided to let it slide, however, just this once.

“There’s not much to tell.” Lance said, leaning back into the comfortable couch, spreading his arms over the back of it. “I moved over to the States with my sister and her family about three years ago. Before I worked at the diner, I worked at a garden downtown. Hunk put in a good word for me with Sal, and…” He shrugged. “Here I am, I guess."

Red’s eyes were wide, though, and he shuffled a little closer on the couch. “Wait, you moved to the states? From where?”

“From Cuba.” Lance felt himself growing distant as memories of his home country flashed in his mind. “It’s beautiful there. My family used to go to the Varadero beach, and there was white sand and turquoise water as far as the eye could see.” He sighed softly, his homesickness an old, familiar ache in his chest. “Sometimes we had bonfires there, and mama would make enough food to feed the entire family and _then_ some.”

He was silent for a moment, staring up at the dark, smoky wood that covered the ceiling.

“You…” Red said softly, and Lance felt the couch cushions shift with the other teen. “You really miss them, don’t you?”

Lance jumped at the gentleness in his voice, suddenly feeling like an ass for spacing out like that. Looking away for a second to blink the wetness out of his eyes--dammit, it had been three years, he should be over this by now--he forced out, “Yeah.”

For a moment they were both quiet, the soft hum of the fan and the clink of coffee cups the only sound. Lance swallowed past the lump in his throat, once, twice--and then forced out a laugh, a little too loud to be natural. “I’m sorry, Red, I didn’t mean to be such a downer.”

“No,” Red responded, and Lance finally looked up at the other teen, who had gotten much closer in the last few minutes. “No, it’s fine. I like hearing about your home.” Then, a tiny bit softer, he continued, “I’d like to see it some day.”

On a spur of the moment decision, Lance grinned at him, still a little watery. “I could show you around, if you wanted.”

Red’s eyes widened, and for a second Lance wondered if he’d been too forward, too fast. There was just something... _magnetic_ about the other teen, that had made him make the offer. He was just opening his mouth to take it back, make a joke about it, even though he had been half-serious about the it, when--

“I’ve never been outside the country before.” Red said, watching Lance with hopeful, dark eyes. “I’d like that.”

Lance couldn’t help but grin at him at that.

Several hours later, the two of them were seated at a table, sharing two earbuds over their empty plates, sipping their respective cups of coffee. Red hadn’t actually said all that much over the course of their conversation--he was still quiet, still awkward--but his face was very expressive, when one was paying attention. His eyebrows shot up in delight when Lance announced that he played guitar; his neutral frown deepened when he was thinking hard.

Red was honest, almost to the point of bluntness; he liked music that came almost exclusively from the 20th century, even though Lance would’ve pegged him as an edgy, emo sort who listened to Panic! At the Disco and MCR. He liked recording stuff from the day and then creating remixes out of the words; apparently he had an entire hoard of tapes back at home.

(He still clammed up whenever Lance pressed about his personal life, however, and Lance had respected his boundaries.)

However, when Red had revealed that he actually had no idea who Justin Bieber was, Lance had been horrified.

So here they were, buds plugged into Lance’s MP3 player, _Let Me Love You_ playing softly into their ears.

Lance scrolled through his playlists, trying to decide what they should listen to next. He paused over Beyonce--you had to be living under a rock not to know her, but then again--and just by chance, his eyes flicked to the time at the top of the screen.

“Oh, geez.” Lance muttered. _9:45_. When had it gotten that late?

“What is it?” Red asked, leaning over so he could get a better look.

“Nothing, just...it’s getting late.” Lance smiled apologetically, waving his MP3 player in Red’s general direction. “I need to get going.”

“Is it?” Red asked, frowning, and then checked the watch on his arm. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t even notice.”

“That’s alright.” Lance stood up, unplugging Red’s headphones from his MP3 player and handing them over.

Red accepted them before also getting to his feet, plugging them back into his ancient iPod and securing one bud in his ear. “I...tonight was. Good.”

“Was it?” Lance asked, trying to seem amused rather than nervous.

More firmly, Red said. “Yes.”

Relieved, Lance let his smile spread across his face. “Good. It was good for me, too.”

He couldn’t tell whether Red was blushing or not because of the dark lighting, but he swore he saw a light flush in those pale cheeks. They stared at each other helplessly for a moment, seemingly unwilling to move.

“A-Anyway.” Red was the first one to break their staring match. “Do you want a ride back to your place? I have a motorcycle.”

 _A motorcycle,_ Lance thought, amazed. _This boy is twice as extra as I first thought._ Out loud he said, “Nah, it’s fine. I have to get my bike anyway.” He smiled teasingly. “My regular bicycle, by the way.”

Red visibly bristled. “Are you--are you making fun of my--”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Lance responded loftily, though he softened his smile to make sure Red knew that he was joking. “Maybe next time, though.”

At that statement, they both paused. 

“N-next time?” Red asked, eyes the size of saucers.

“I mean--” Lance hurried, cursing himself for assuming, “Only if you want to--”

“No--I mean yes!” Red grabbed Lance’s arm. “Yes, I’d--I’d like that.” He breathed out. “Next time.”

\------------------------------

Red got back to his apartment about thirty minutes later. He threw himself onto his bed, balling up the plaid shirt and tossing it into the laundry several feet away. He felt light, buoyant, like he was going to float away from this plane of existence. He shut his eyes, and a wide grin accompanied by ocean-blue eyes appeared in his mind’s eye.

 _Get it right the first time,_ Billy Joel crooned into his ears, _That’s the main thing!_

Then he rolled onto his stomach, his face jammed into his hands, and whispered, “Next time.”

\------------------------------

Scene Playlist:

Let me love you - Justin Bieber  
Get it Right the First Time - Billy Joel

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End Part 1


	2. Pressure

Red walked into the diner the next morning, feeling much more chipper than he usually did. He hummed along with John Lennon chorusing _Don’t Let Me Down,_ twirled with the guitar hit as he opened the door, shuffled rhythmically to his seat. He felt buoyant, like the weightlessness of his heart would lift him off the ground and into the atmosphere.

Eager to talk to Lance again, Red turned down the volume and started to look around. 

The first person he saw was the girl at the cash register, who was staring at him through narrowed eyes. Red paused for a second, a little intimidated by her intense gaze, before shaking himself and moving on. The second person he saw was the big friendly guy who waved hello whenever they saw each other, also staring at him. A little taken aback, Red looked around the mostly empty diner, trying to figure out whether they were seriously both looking at him.

They were, unfortunately. And Lance was mysteriously absent. 

And now that Red had realized that Lance was not actually in the diner, he became twice as aware of the gazes burning into his face. He glanced over at the girl again, a short-haired orangette with a killer glare, then at the big guy, and felt himself wilt into his seat. Hoping to avoid any more awkwardness, he pressed his lips together and hunched over his iPod, turning the sound up so that it was almost unbearable. 

He was left alone for a couple seconds as he tried to drown out his embarrassment with the volume of his music. But then, unexpectedly, Red felt a soft tap on his arm. 

He jumped and was about halfway through a small internal freakout before he realized that it was just the big guy, smiling apologetically at him. He gestured a little at his own ear, and it took Red a second for him to realize that the other teen wanted him to take out his earbud. A little hesitant, just because he had no idea what the other teen wanted--maybe to shout at him for some reason?--he carefully turned down the volume and took out one bud.

“I’m sorry for surprising you.” The other teen said sheepishly. “Lance doesn’t get here until eleven, by the way.”

Red glanced down at his nametag, and read _Hunk._ “You didn’t surprise me.” He said after a moment, despite them both knowing that it was clearly a lie. “Is your name really Hunk?”

The newly dubbed Hunk blinked in surprise, then glanced down at his nametag as though just noticing it. He laughed and rocked back on his heels a little, rubbing the back of his head as though embarrassed by something. “Ah...no, not really. It’s just what everyone calls me.”

Red could relate--he’d been using his pseudonym for so long it felt almost more natural than his real name. “So, uh, Hunk...was there something you wanted?”

“Oh!” Hunk was all warm smiles and a calming personality; despite having not really talked to him until now, Red found himself automatically relaxing. “Yeah, of course. I just wanted to introduce myself, which I really should’ve done earlier, considering you’ve been coming here for three years now…”

“Oh.” Red said uncertainly, now completely convinced that this had something to do with Lance. “Well….hi. My name is Red.” He reached out to shake hands with Hunk, who did so enthusiastically. 

“And my name is Pidge.” 

Red jumped again when the orange-haired girl materialized from out of nowhere, grinning small and mischievous. She was wearing the male uniform, and Red wondered how she’d managed that. Last he heard, Sal was pretty adamant about everyone wearing the proper dress code. 

Red glanced between the two of them, his suspicions beginning to grow. “Are you guys--” He paused, and then began speaking again, slowly. “Are you guys...trying to talk to me about Lance?”

“Yes.” Pidge said, the same time that Hunk said, “No.”

They looked at each other blankly, as though surprised by the others’ answer. 

“Then what are you here for, Hunk?” Pidge demanded. 

“Listen, I just figured if he and Lance start going out, I’d want to actually know who the guy is.” Hunk said defensively, raising his hands in a placating motion. 

Pidge looked incredulous. “How does that have nothing to do with Lance?”

“I'm just being friendly.” Hunk shrugged casually. 

“Uh, yeah, okay.” Pidge rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “It looks like I’m the one being honest with myself here.” Then she turned to Red and leaned into his personal space, eyeing him suspiciously. Red instinctively leaned away, trying to put some distance between him and her stare. “I’m here to figure out what kind of person you are.”

Red’s eyebrows shot up. “And if I fail to meet expectations?”

Pidge and Hunk glanced at each other. 

“We can't tell Lance to stop hanging out with you.” Hunk said, so gently it almost took the sting out of his words, “But we can tell him that you're an awful person.”

“That's only _if_ you're an awful person.” Pidge interjected quickly.

Red stared at them, feeling a little overwhelmed the duo. He swallowed, licked his lips, and finally said, “What do you want to know?” 

Pidge pulled an envelope from seemingly out of nowhere, and waved it in his face. “First things first, I want an explanation for this.”

Red furrowed his eyebrows at it. “I've...never seen that before.”

“Oh?” Pidge asked, and Red tensed at the lack of amusement in her voice. “Then what about these?”

She tipped the envelope forward, letting its contents spill out onto the table in front of Red. They were a small pile of photographs, printed on regular old computer paper. They were grainy and hard to make out, but--

Red’s eyes widened.

Every single photograph was a poorly taken shot of him, in the front seat of a car. In one picture, Sendak was next to him; in another, Haggar scowled into the distance. These were all pictures taken by traffic cameras, in the middle of their getaway from the target. 

A soft buzzing erupted beneath his skin, and Red clenched his fingers in his sleeves, staring unseeingly at the table. The ringing in his ears, the constant one that he couldn't ever shake, suddenly seemed to get louder, encompassing his whole being. 

“Where--” He gasped out, feeling lightheaded. “Where did you--”

“I was watching the news once,” Hunk said, “And I thought I saw someone who looked awfully familiar.”

“I hacked into the traffic cameras and checked for dates when robberies had occurred.” Pidge continued. “We found these.”

Shaking, Red dropped his head into his hands, belatedly realizing that his breathing was coming too fast. This was a nightmare that he'd had often--someone figuring out who he was, what he did, who he worked for. But this was a worst case scenario--Lance’s friends. Lance’s _friends_ had found out. If they went to the police, if they put themselves on Zarkon’s radar….

“You can't tell anyone about this.” Red whispered, fingers twitching with the urge to put his other bud back in. “I'll tell you everything I can, but you have to promise you won't go to anyone about this.”

“I don't think we can promise that.” Hunk said firmly, expression darkening.

“No I--” Red broke off, frustration bubbling in his chest. “The person I work for, he is dangerous. If he finds out that you've been asking questions--” He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, looking away. 

There must have been some silent communication that passed between the duo, because after a moment they both squeezed into the seat across from Red. In any other situation, Red would’ve laughed at how comical they appeared; Hunk hulking in his seat, Pidge barely needing any room at all. 

“How about we hear what you have to say, first.” Hunk said, the gentleness back in his voice. 

Red bit his lip, but didn’t see another choice. “What...do you want to know?”

“Who is it you work for?” Pidge was quick to ask. She had obviously prepared for this meeting. 

Red deliberated for a moment, wondering how much he could--or should--tell her. Too much information might put them in even more danger, but not enough might make them curious, might make them start looking around where they shouldn’t. Eventually he decided on, “I...can’t tell you his name, but I can say that he’s very powerful. He has people everywhere, including the police.” He fixed them with a warning look at that. 

The two exchanged a look. They shuffled at each other, twitched a shoulder here, an eye there--but eventually turned back to him. 

“Acceptable.” Hunk said, and Red breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I’m serious, though.” Red pressed. “Don’t go looking for him.”

“We’ll keep it in mind.” Pidge responded dryly. “Second question--why are you working for him?” 

“No offense, but you don’t seem the type.” Hunk interjected. 

Here Red paused, because this was--this was personal. This was really personal, and the last thing he wanted to do was give away something that he didn’t want anyone else knowing. Shiro was different; Shiro cared about him, and had helped him out of more than one tight spot. These guys were being nosy, or overprotective, take your pick. 

He settled on, “...personal reasons. I’m not working for him by choice.”

Hunk settled onto his forearms. “We’re going to need a little more than ‘personal reasons’, Red. Our number one priority is making sure that you’re not going to hurt Lance, even if your heart is in the right place.”

The sky outside was endlessly blue; a single fluffy cloud drifted listlessly across it, alone in a sea of open air. Red stared at it, wishing he could be up there instead of down here. 

Then he sighed, still looking away from them, and said, “My mother owed him a lot of money. She died before she could pay it off. I…” He clenched his hands, and the phantom sensation of shackles echoed across his wrists. “I picked up the debt.”

Silence descended over the table, and for once no one moved to break it. The atmosphere felt too fragile for words, as though it might shatter if someone dared to do more than breathe. The only sound was his own music playing directly into his ear, a melody no one could hear except for him. 

_How can the light that burned so brightly suddenly burn so pale?_

“Is he safe?” 

Red almost missed it, the question was so soft, almost reverent. He turned to look at Hunk. “What?”

Hunk’s hands were clenched together on the table in front of him, his eyes fixed just beyond them. “Is Lance...is he safe with you? You say this man you work for is dangerous. Is Lance safe?”

Red breathed out harshly through his nose and leaned over the table, putting his hand on top of Hunk’s folded ones. He waited until the other teen had looked up before saying, very quietly, “If I thought there was any danger to Lance, I would never have come back.” 

He stared deeply into Hunk’s eyes for a few seconds, until he nodded slowly, accepting Red’s words. Then Red breathed out a shaky breath and leaned back in his seat, curling his fingers back up in his sleeves. That had been far too exposed for his taste. 

“Besides.” Red said awkwardly, “I only have two jobs left before I’m done for good. After that I’m free.”

“Good.” Hunk said, nodding faster this time. “Then I’m satisfied.” He turned to his smaller companion, who had been watching the exchange through narrowed eyes. “Pidge, do you have anything else?”

Pidge rubbed her hands together, breathing in and out, as though fortifying herself. “I do have one thing to ask.”

With no small amount of trepidation, Red asked, “What?”

She examined him, though it somehow felt less intimidating than before. “I’m only asking you this because I think you’re being honest, and you don’t seem like a bad guy. Also, I’d rather not see Lance get hurt.” She steepled her fingers in front of her. “You say you only have two jobs left. What makes you think that this guy is going to let you go?”

All the air left Red at once. 

“W-What?” He said blankly. 

Pidge and Hunk glanced at each other, before she continued, “I did a lot of research last night, Red. As far as I can tell, you’ve never been caught, not once.”

Numbly, he nodded. 

“I don’t think you realize how unusual that is.” Pidge said, “Do you really think that whoever it is is going to let you go?” 

“I--” Red stuttered out before falling silent. _Steady, Red_. “That’s impossible. Zarkon never goes back on a deal. It’s--it’s bad business if he does.” Belatedly he realized that he’d said Zarkon’s name, fuck, but--

Pidge didn’t look surprised. Like she’d already known. 

“Yeah, okay. Say that’s true.” Pidge was quick to counter. “How many people know about your deal? If you try and tell someone that Zarkon played you and he disagrees, who do you think they’re going to believe--you, or his money?”

Red was frozen, staring at Pidge, eyes huge. He didn’t--he couldn’t--

But slowly, terrifyingly, her words began to make sense. Because--Zarkon wasn’t honorable, he didn’t fulfill his end of the bargain because he thought it was his responsibility; he did it because he could lose money if he didn’t. Like an idiot, he had assumed that Zarkon would fulfill his end of the bargain, based on past interactions with paying clients. When had he grown so comfortable with his collar and leash? When had he stopped thinking? 

An image of Shiro flashed through his head, face hesitant, mouth bursting with words unsaid, flashed through his mind. Well, he guessed now he knew what Shiro had been wanting to say. 

His hands were shaking again. He felt as though his entire world had just been upended, leaving him drifting helpless in thin air. He had--forgotten. He had forgotten what the world he lived in was really like; that people like him didn’t get happy endings, hope was for the weak, and love was for fools. 

“Red.” Pidge said, drawing his attention again. He jerked up, eyes wide, unsteady and ready to shake apart. “I’m sorry, that was a little harsh. But here’s the thing.” She smiled at him, a real smile, for the first time. “You’ve got us in your corner now. I know that doesn’t seem like much, but we’re more useful than we look.” 

Miserably, Red asked, “What can you possibly do against the most powerful person in the city?”

“You mean Zarkon, right?” Pidge asked, face carefully blank. “When you’re talking about the most powerful person in the city, you mean Zarkon.”

“I--” Red began, a deep flush beginning to rise in his cheeks. “I--”

“Relax. It wasn’t that difficult to figure out.” Pidge tossed her head dismissively, “Plus, I have experience with him. Which means I know how to handle him.”

Red stared. When had Pidge, a plucky teenager, had the chance to encounter a crime lord? 

Hunk and Pidge glanced at each other, and then grinned simultaneously. “Allura.” 

\---------------------

Two years ago, journalist Matt Holt disappeared in the middle of a story he was researching. The topic had been Zarkon, one of the most influential yet mysterious men in the whole city. 

The police assigned to his case were oddly quick to dismiss it, citing that it was likely the young man had simply run away. The problem with this was: Matt had a precocious younger sibling named Katie, and she was a conspiracy theorist with the persistence of God. Or, more appropriately, Satan. She knew that his disappearance had something to do with the Zarkon case, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

However the police had failed her, and her family was almost no better. Her parents were wise to the ways of the world, and knew that it was very likely that Matt was already dead. They hired a private investigator, but tried not to get their hopes up, and were unsurprised when the detective found nothing. They then gave up, and focused their attention on a small ceremony for their presumably dead son. 

Desperate but unwilling to quit without finding her brother, Katie had made what she’d known was a reckless, terrible decision. With the help of her only friend, she tracked down the other person in the city who was just as dangerous as Zarkon, a young gang leader named Allura. 

Luckily for Katie, Allura already had a grudge against Zarkon, and was willing to help if it pissed the other man off. For a price, of course. 

The transaction had been made. A week later, Matt Holt came home, broken and battered but alive. 

Not only that, but a connection had been made. Allura had taken a shine to Katie (or as she was known to everyone else, Pidge) and her young friend, Hunk, and had told them that if they ever needed help, to come find her. 

Red only knew about Zarkon’s most hated rival peripherally. However, it seemed as though he was about to get a lot more up close and personal. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Scene Playlist:

Don’t Let Me Down - The Beatles  
Bright Eyes - Simon and Garfunkel

\----------------------------------------------------

_Hi_

Lance, who had been scrolling through his Tumblr feed, waiting for his sister to get home from her doctor’s appointment, stared at the message he’d just received from an unknown number. He had gotten many messages like this before; people texting random numbers to see who they could find. People like that tended to be looking for mischief of some sort, so he was a little uncertain of how to respond. 

He sat up and shuffled down to the end of his bed, eying his phone warily as he did so. It would be rude not respond--it could be someone from work, for all he knew--but then again...Lance sighed, and typed back, _Hi. Sorry, but who is this?_

Lance rubbed his screen absently with his thumb, stains disappearing from its surface beneath his fingertip. All that was left was a long slash of oil. 

_Sorry_

Lance stared at the message for a second, bewildered by that response. Before he could respond, however, 

_Its Red_

“Oh!” Lance said out loud, falling backward on his bed again and grinning at the screen. _Oh, hi red!!! :3_

He stared at the message after he sent it, wondering if he’d used too many exclamation points. It was probably fine; after all, Lance’s texting style could be described as ‘erratic and overexcited’. It was probably best Red got used to it now. 

It took Red barely a second to respond. _Hi Lance_

Then, almost as an afterthought, _:)_

Lance chuckled under his breath, smiling dopily at the smiley face. While it was clear that Red was awkward and got nervous easily, he tried so hard to meet Lance halfway. Lance’s fingers flew across the keyboard, _so yesterday was really great!!! Even tho i didnt finish introducing u to all the classic artists ;)_

_I wouldnt exactly call them classics_

If it had been anyone else, Lance would’ve been seriously offended. _bieber and beyonce are goin down in musical history, just u wait and c_

_Youre delusional,_ Red quipped back quickly. _Ill show you the real classics. You ever heard of the Eagles? Billy joel? Simon and Garfunkel?_

He used proper spelling while texting, listened exclusively to artists before 2000, and had an ancient iPod that barely looked like it worked anymore. Red, despite looking like the epitome of a modern hipster, was surprisingly old fashioned. _how bout next time we meet u can show me ur ‘classics’ and ill show u the real stuff_

Red had said that he wanted to get together again. Lance had prior evidence that showed that Red did actually enjoy his company. There should be no reason why he was getting butterflies in his stomach. 

_Id like that_

Lance grinned. _u coming to the diner to say hello today?_

_I went this morning_

Lance stared at the response, his smiled slowly vanishing from his face. The fact that Red had gone this morning meant that he’d been exposed to Hunk and Pidge without Lance as a buffer. And knowing his very nosy, very protective friends, they had decided to interrogate him. Hunk was very good at distracting Sal for long periods of time like that. 

_Hunk and pidge didnt do nything did they??_

There was a long pause, as though Red was trying to come up with the politest way to say, ‘they ambushed me and made me very uncomfortable’. Lance bit his lip as he waited, feeling the desire to strangle those two more strongly than he ever had before. They knew that Red got anxious in unfamiliar social situations! 

Or did they?

Lance thought about that for a moment, and then realized that they couldn't possibly know about Red’s social anxiety. Red had admitted it last night, citing it as the reason he had taken so long to talk to Lance, but he had never said that to Hunk and Pidge. 

_They’re good friends_ Red said eventually, which was a polite way of saying ‘yes they did something, but it was for your benefit so I’m mostly okay with it’. 

_Im sorry about them :(_ , Lance sent, mentally making a note to tell Hunk and Pidge to back off. 

_Dont be. I liked them_

Now a little bewildered, Lance stared at the message. _Really??_

_Yeah_

Well, at least they hadn’t scared him off, like Lance had been half worrying about. On the other hand... _what did u guys talk about?_

_Nm they were just asking about my intentions toward you_

“Oh geez,” Lance muttered, covering his face with one hand, making another mental note to tell Hunk to stop vetting all his suitors. Lance was not a defenseless damsel in distress, he was a big boy and he could go out with who he wanted! _Im SO SORRY about them_

_Seriously, its fine. They seem to care about you alot_

The fact that they cared about him was a double edged sword, though; on one hand, they loved Lance, and he loved them with all his heart. On the other hand, they did stuff like this: vet all the people he tried to date. Once, Pidge had been especially suspicious of someone and had followed him and his date around the entire time. In all fairness, the girl had turned out to be a crazy controlling psycho, but still. 

_Yeah i guess._ Lance responded, then decided it was time for a subject change. _Will i be seeing you at the diner later tho? If they haven’t scared you off that is_

So sue him, he was clingy and wanted attention. 

_Of course. It would take more than that to keep me away_

Lance grinned at his phone, giddy. _I’ll see you then!!! <3_

He only had to wait mere seconds for his response. 

_< 3_

“Lance?” 

Lance paused in the middle of his response, a long line of exclamation marks which he had been hoping would properly convey his enthusiasm at seeing the heart. He looked up and caught sight of his sister, her dark hair pulled up into a bun at the nape of her neck, expression soft and hesitant. 

“Oh, Maria!” He said, then put down his phone before he could finish responding. “Hi! I didn’t hear you come in.” He had Red to blame for that one he supposed, as he rose from the bed and went to hug his sister. 

He had been living with Maria and her husband for three years now, and they had been extremely kind to him. He had all the privacy he could want, and had only started paying rent after essentially forcing the money on them. They all loved each other fiercely. 

He only wished he could do more for her and her husband, especially with their first baby on the way. 

Maria clung to him with an odd intensity, her face buried in his shoulder, like he was the only thing keeping her afloat. They stayed like that for several seconds, and as the clock ticked on, Lance got more and more worried. 

“My Maria,” He said, nervously, “What on earth has gotten into you?” Then, a sudden, horrifying thought occurred to him. “It’s--” He licked his lips. “It’s not the baby, is it?”

To his surprise, Maria started laughing, a little wetly. He went over everything he’d just said, trying to figure out what was so funny, and then sighed. 

“Really?” He asked, mostly to nobody in particular. That hadn’t even been an intentional pun. 

Wiping tears away from her eyes, Maria said, “It’s nothing to do with the baby, Lance. Don’t worry about it, I’m being silly.”

“Maria,” Lance said reprovingly. “You are _crying._ Let’s get some ice cream and talk about this.”

She looked at him for a second, her gaze almost searching. He didn’t know what she was searching for, though. 

“Alright.” She said softly, and curled her arm in his when he offered it to her. 

They separated when they got to the kitchen, Lance automatically going for the spoons and bowls while Maria fetched the ice cream and scooper. They met up at the table, and Maria began scooping equal amounts of ice cream into each bowl, making sure not to give one person more. This was a ritual of theirs, one they had kept even since before moving to the United States. 

Lance had always been closest to Maria out of all of his siblings, though he couldn’t quite explain why. She was older than him by six years, the second oldest of the bunch, and a girl to boot. Lance really should’ve been closer with Stephan, who was three years older, or Rafael, who was a year older, but…

He and Maria had just clicked. 

So here they were, sitting cross legged on the couch and sharing ice cream between them like the good old days. Or maybe not like the good old days, considering that most of the ‘good old days’ Lance had been fretting over his growing awareness of his bisexuality, and Maria had been coming to terms with her depression and social anxiety. 

“So.” Lance said, spooning some ice cream from his bowl and popping it into his mouth. “Why are you crying, Maria?” He folded his hand into a fist and punched it into his palm. “Is there someone I need to beat up for you?” He was only half joking. 

Maria huffed quietly behind her spoon, shaking her head at him and his antics. She pulled out the utensil, thoughtfully slurping off a few drops of ice cream, before saying, “Do you ever think about...about home?”

Lance stopped. 

Because the thing was, he never stopped thinking about home. Varadero beaches superimposed over New England rocky sand and iron grey seas; just the smell of certain spices made his mouth water, because they reminded him of his mama’s cooking. Sometimes he looked for his cousins in places they had never visited; in his sister’s home, in the diner. His home, Cuba, was like a wound in his chest that he could never get rid of. 

Did he ever think about home? 

“Yeah.” He said casually. “Sometimes. Why do you ask?”

Maria smiled at him sadly, probably seeing right through him. She absently rubbed her hand over her swollen belly as she said, “Today, at the doctor’s...she showed me an ultrasound of my child.” A sigh escaped her. “All I could think about was how much I wished mama was there with me.” 

Lance swallowed once, twice, then quickly set the ice cream bowl down on the table. He scooted closer to his sister’s side, and tossed one arm around her, resting his head on her shoulder. She smelled warm, familiar; like sunshine and cheap soap and the ocean. She smelled like home. 

Maria sniffled quietly, her ice cream bowl resting between her limp hands. 

“Why don’t we call mama.” Lance murmured quietly, and he felt the urge blossom so strongly he could hardly resist reaching for the phone. 

“Yeah.” Maria whispered back, but--

It was never enough.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lance was a little startled but delighted when Red actually showed up at the Diner at one, mouth twisted into an awkward frown, signature biking jacket settled on his shoulders. He had half expected the other teen to wait a few days before coming back, since Hunk and Pidge had so ruthlessly interrogated him just that morning. He waited until Red slid into his usual booth before moseying up to the table. 

“Hey there, stranger,” He said, beaming at Red, “Long time no see.”

Red’s lips quirked up a second before he lifted his grey eyes to meet Lance’s, and he swiftly removed a bud from his ear. Ruffling his hair back from his face--Lance followed the movement, swallowing--Red said, “Like I said, you can’t keep me away.”

_B-bmp, b-bmp,_ went Lance’s heart. Trying to suppress the blush rising to his cheeks, Lance quickly said, “So what can I get for you today, Red? The usual?”

To Lance’s surprise, Red’s smile faded a hair, turning his expression into something more thoughtful. He twisted his fingers in the cord of his dangling earbud, and glanced over at the menu at the end of the table. 

“Actually,” Red said, “I think I’d like to try something new.”

Lance’s eyebrows went up. As far as he knew, the only thing Red had ever gotten in this diner was a cup of coffee with soy milk and sugar. “Oh? Something you had in mind?”

Red shrugged. “I’ve never had lunch here before. What’s good?”

Before Lance could stop himself, he said, “I mean, you could always try takeout.”

Red paused, and squinted up at him, clearly confused. “Is there...something special about the takeout menu?”

Well, he had started it. No matter how embarrassing this was going to be, he had to finish it. Lance finger-gunned in Red’s direction, and said with false charm, “Well, you can take out your waiter.”

He had never seen another human being turn red so fast; Red’s pale skin looked like it had just gotten a horrible, horrible sunburn. The other teen visibly struggled with himself for a moment, fingers twitching, before he finally lifted his hands to cover his face. 

_“Oh my god.”_ Lance heard him whisper. 

Torn between feeling concerned and pleased with himself, Lance slid into the booth across from Red and rested his head on his hand. “Was that too much?”

It took him a second to respond, but Red shook his head, slowly at first, and then with growing enthusiasm. It took him another moment to stop hiding his eyes behind his fingertips, but when he did, Lance marveled at Red’s still glowing red skin. 

“I--” The other teen began. “I thought you were just going to recommend a sandwich or something.”

Mortified, Lance felt a flush crawling up his own cheeks, and he looked down at the table, a half-panicked grin pasted on his face. It was unlike him to be so flustered, so awkward. “I--I can still do that, if you want me to, uh--”

_“Lance!”_ Sal bellowed from the kitchen, and they both jumped. 

Lance scrambled up from his seat, patting down his hair and feeling slightly relieved that Sal had interrupted. He kind of wanted to crawl under a table and never flirt with anyone ever again, or at least never flirt with Red. He took a step forward--

And was stopped by a hand grabbing his arm. 

“Wait!” Red said, and his blush was slowly receding from his face. He looked oddly determined, his lips turned down into a serious frown. “Is--can I still take out the waiter?”

Lance stared at him for a second, uncomprehending, unsure if he had heard the other teen correctly or not. He was apparently silent long enough for Red to start getting nervous, because he let go of Lance’s arm and began twisting his fingers around his earbud cord. 

“Unless you don’t want to--” Red winced, looking away. “Um.”

“No!” Startled, Lance jumped in to respond, then almost slapped himself in the face. “I mean yes, definitely! You can definitely still take out the waiter.”

A slow smile spread across Red’s face, softening his features and crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Can I pick you up tomorrow at six?”

A little breathlessly, Lance nodded. “It’s a date.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

The next day Red stared up at the clock on his wall, counting down the minutes until six. It was five thirty, and he planned to leave at five forty five; those fifteen minutes were passing so slowly, it made him want to scream. Even Queen’s Who wants to live forever was just making him anxious, rather than relaxed. 

_Who wants...to live...forever…._

He had spent the day doing what he normally did; making some new mixtapes from his tape recorder, watching TV. He had even deigned to leave the apartment and go bother Shiro during his lunch break, which he knew secretly pleased the older man, even if he acted like it bothered him. 

Today had been lucky, he knew that; generally jobs from Zarkon came once every few days, and Red had half expected a call. But it looked as though he had dodged that bullet, and everything was going smoothly. Now if only time would pass like he wanted it to pass--

_Who wants...to live...foreveeeeer…._

Five thirty two. Red sighed and rolled over, absently rubbing the fabric of his fingerless gloves between two fingers. Should he call Shiro again? For emotional support? He had actually changed his clothes this time, so at least that advice had mostly stuck, even if he still didn’t really understand what was so bad about wearing his normal outfit. 

Red picked up his phone, rubbing the cracked screen absently, not for the first time wishing he had a more modern phone. Then at least he could download games and stuff on it, which would make time pass faster. 

Then he paused. 

Red opened up his phone and tapped his contacts app, finger hovering over the contact he had added just yesterday morning. Pidge it read, in impersonal black font. She had told him to get in contact with her later when he had a moment, and as of yet he hadn’t called. He hadn’t had a moment to, yet. But--

Now he had a moment. He had approximately ten minutes before he had to leave. 

Red turned down the volume on the music, took a fortifying breath, and hit ‘call’. He really had no idea what to expect out of this conversation, and that made him a bit nervous. 

The phone rung for a terrifyingly long time; for a second he was worried that Pidge had given him the wrong number, and some stranger would pick up. After the seventh ring, however, the phone clicked, and a groggy voice asked, “‘Yello?”

“Uh, hi.” Red said awkwardly--maybe he really had gotten the wrong number. “Is this, uh...is this Pidge?”

There was a pause, and the sound of something rustling in the background. Then the person said, more strongly this time, “Who’s asking?”

“It’s Red.” He responded, his bravery beginning to wane. “I--I think I’ve gotten the wrong number, I’ll--”

“No, wait!” And just like that, the voice went from dark and growly to friendly and high-pitched, just like the Pidge he knew. “Sorry about that, you sound different over the phone. Thanks for calling.”

“I think you’re the one who sounds the most different over the phone.” Red’s lips curled into a small smile, and he allowed himself to relax a little. He wondered whether or not he should bother with niceties, but then decided against it. He actually didn’t really care about small talk. “So uh, what you said earlier--about maybe Allura helping me--”

“I can set up a meeting between you two.” Pidge said confidently, much more confidently than he would’ve been if he’d been in her situation. To him, Allura was almost as terrifying as Zarkon; the only reason she scared him a little less was because she wasn’t holding the end of his leash. “I can’t promise much more than that, but it’s a start.”

Red frowned and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “But why would she help me? She doesn’t like me Pidge, I’m just one of Zarkon’s men--”

“Offer your services as a driver.” Pidge’s voice was comfortable and casual, as though she discussed the semantics of removing someone from a gang every day. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Say you’ll be her driver for a specific amount of time. She’s not like Zarkon, she actually honors her deals. As long as you keep your end of the bargain you’ll be fine.”

Red felt his temper flare, and his lips curled into a snarl. “I’m not interested in another collar, Pidge. If that’s all you have to offer me, I’m going to hang up right now.”

“What?” Pidge sounded genuinely startled, like the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. There was a second of silence, a soft shuffle of sound, and then, “Oh no, that’s not what I--no. No. Allura is involved in a _legitimate business_ , Red. Draw up a contract so it’s official--hell, hire a lawyer if you need to. She’s nothing like Zarkon. She’s a good person.”

Red thought about that for a second, because...it really did sound like just trading one leash for another. And even though Pidge said that Allura was a good person, how could he trust what she was saying? He barely knew Pidge, let alone Allura. He didn’t like this, not at all. And yet…

What other options did he have? He didn’t know anyone else in the entire city who could go toe to toe with Zarkon and win. 

Like it or not, Allura--and by extension, Pidge--was his only way out of this situation.

“One meeting.” Red decided, talking over Pidge when she tried to protest. “I’ll decide whether or not I want to work with Allura after that.”

Pidge hesitated, like she wanted so say something else, but then responded, “You won’t regret this, seriously. I know it may not seem like it, but she’s going to get you out of there. I swear it.”

Red grunted out a goodbye, hit end call, and tossed his phone away from him, rolling back onto his back. That went...well. Somewhat. He had hoped for something better than selling himself to another buyer, but…

If Allura did prove to be a better owner than Zarkon, he would go. 

Red glanced up at the clock, and shot straight up. Five forty six. Go time. He grabbed the basket from the table, and shot out the door. 

\---------------------------------

Scene Playlist:

Who Wants to Live Forever - Queen

\-----------------------------------

When Red walked through the door of the diner, Lance was nowhere in sight; however Hunk, who was manning the cash register, gave him a hesitant wave. Red shifted in his boots self-consciously, before returning it--he still really didn’t know how to feel about the other guy. One one hand, he was Lance’s best friend. On the other, he and his friend had subjected Red to a very uncomfortable interrogation. 

Luckily he was saved from having to interact much further with the guy, because just then Lance pushed through the kitchen doors, buttoning his coat as he went. He looked as he always did; blue-eyed and smiling, dark brown hair tousled artfully. He was gorgeous. 

Red felt a moment of self-consciousness well up inside of him. He looked like a slob at his best, a disaster at his worst--would Lance be embarrassed to be seen in public with him? He touched the ends of his hair, biting his lip and looking away. He definitely should’ve asked for Shiro’s advice on this topic. 

“Hey.” Someone said, and when Red looked up again, Lance was standing about a foot away, beaming at him. “You ready to go?” There was no hesitation in his voice, no curl of distaste at his lip. 

Red took out his earbud and smiled back. “Of course.”

When the two of them reached Red’s bike, Lance let out a low, impressed whistle. He ran his fingers over the red frame, marvelling over the sleek structure and the thick leather seat. His face was a picture of rapture. _“Dude.”_

Red grinned, pride welling up in his chest at the idea that his crush appreciated his bike as much as he did. “I know.” He knew he sounded far too smug, but he just couldn’t help it. There were few things he loved as much as his bike. 

He tossed Lance a helmet from his pack and casually swung his leg over the side, resting his arms on the handlebars as he waited. 

Lance was staring at him, blinking rapidly, as though he had no idea what he was supposed to do with the object in his hands. Red blinked back, then looked down at his jacket, checking for stains. 

After seeing nothing, he looked back up at Lance, beginning to feel uncertain. Did he not want to ride the bike? “Something wrong?”

Lance shook himself and looked down at the helmet, letting out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “No, no. It’s nothing.” Finally he settled the helmet down on his head, and came up behind Red. Red jumped a little when a tentative hand pressed onto his shoulder--

And he was in no way prepared for Lance throwing one leg over the seat, settling his weight onto the back of the bike. Warm hands curled up and around his shoulders, the heat emanating from those two points like mini space heaters. It was too much, too fast, and Red felt so embarrassed he almost spontaneously combusted on the spot.

“Ngh.” He muttered.

“Hm? Did you say something?” Lance asked, leaning in closer. 

Unsticking his jaw, Red followed up with, “It’s. Waist. Uh, safer.” 

“What?” Lance asked, confused.

Red shook himself. _Pull yourself together, man, come on._ “Put your arms around my waist, it’s safer.”

Lance hesitated for a moment, his breath tickling the back of Red’s neck. Then the waiter leaned back, and a pair of arms snakes around his middle and fastened over his center. This put Lance’s mouth _right next to Red’s ear holy fuck._

“Like this?” Lance breathed.

Red didn’t trust himself to do anything but nod. 

—

Last time, Red’s decision to take Lance out had been a last moment sort of thing; he hadn’t had any time to plan. He personally didn’t have a problem with the coffee shop, but it was still pretty uncreative compared to what he could’ve done. He wanted to impress Lance; he wanted every moment to be memorable. 

So this time, he had a plan. He knew exactly what he was going to do. 

Lance was more nervous about the bike ride than he had let on; his hands were cordlike around Red’s chest as they left the inner city. Red maneuvered them onto country roads, grimacing a little at the ache forming in his chest, hoping that Lance would come to enjoy it soon. The last thing he wanted to do was scare his date. 

As they flew past rolling hills and thick copses of trees, though, Lance’s hands began to loosen. Although the wind was frigid and unforgiving on Red’s face, it was all worth it when Lance shouted into his ear, _“This is amazing!”_

“Yeah?” Red shouted back, grinning, and revved the engine, sending the bike careening down the road. Lance let out a delighted shriek, leaning into Red to protect himself from the blustering cold. 

The ride ended faster than he would’ve liked. Almost disappointed, Red slowed and turned them onto a gravel path that snaked through a forest leading off the main road, parking next to a tree a couple of miles off the path. They simply sat there for a moment as the engine let out a dying growl, Red hyper-aware of Lance pressed up against his back. 

Then, finally, Lance exclaimed “Whew!” and slung his leg over the back of the bike. He fumbled with his helmet for a second, popping the latch and taking it off with flourish. His cheeks were flushed with the cold, and his hair was all in disarray, and he was an absolutely beautiful mess. “That was amazing!” 

“Glad you liked it.” Red said, leaning over the front of the bike and simply observing for a second. Then he sighed and followed, moving around to get the box from the back of the bike. 

“Ooo, whatcha got there?” Lance asked, coming up behind Red and peering over his shoulder. 

Red flinched a little--he hadn’t heard Lance--but recovered quickly enough. He turned around and lifted the box, grinning wide. “Picnic?”

Lance beamed at him. 

“It’s a bit of a climb, though.” Red warned, lowering the box so he could take off his own helmet. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Looking a little bemused, Lance asked, “Where exactly are we going?” 

Red smiled back mysteriously, hefting the box back into his arms. “It’s a surprise.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two emerged from the forest and came to the base of a rocky outcropping, peppered with thin tufts of grass and tiny wildflowers. The sky above them was beginning to darken, and the wind was especially strong today, drawing a few puffy clouds across the sky. The climb had been relatively short but difficult, and both boys were breathing hard. 

Lance flipped his hair out of his eyes and frowned. “Where--”

“Come on.” Red was beginning to feel a bit like a broken record, but it would be worth it. He took Lance’s hand and began leading him up the path, toward the top of the outcropping. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

As they crested the top of the hill, Red could practically feel Lance rolling his eyes. “I sure hope so, considering--oh.” 

The horizon stretched out in front of them for miles, a vast canvas of trees, hills, and suburban houses. Fields of wildflowers sprawled in a wide array of different colors, dotted with the occasional tree. Almost too far away to see was the city, magnificent and shining, clinging to the bay, its tendrils stretching out onto the open water. And just beyond that was the ocean, that was seeming to meld with the golden egg of the sun as it descended from the sky, sending out rays of light in a kaleidoscope of color. 

Red let out a quiet sigh of relief. He’d been worried they wouldn’t be able to make it for the sunset. 

“This is…” Lance breathed out. 

Red squeezed his hand before letting go, taking a blanket from the box and spreading it out on the ground in front of him. He lowered himself on top of it, before reaching up to Lance, who was still mesmerized by the view. “Join me?” 

“What?” Lance asked faintly, before noticing Red’s hand. “Oh! Oh, yeah.” He plopped down cross legged on the blanket, but most of his focus was taken by the view. “I didn’t...I didn’t realize there was a place like this so close to the city.”

“Not a lot of people know about it.” Red admitted quietly, rummaging through the box to get their dinners. “My parents used to take me up here when I was younger. I don’t know how they knew about it.”

“They’re from around here, then?” Lance asked, finally tearing his gaze away. 

Red paused for just a second, before shrugging a little and handing Lance a turkey sandwich. “They were.”

Then, before things could get awkward because he didn’t want anyone’s misplaced pity, Red said, “I fell off of here once.”

Luckily, Lance seemed to read the mood, because he gasped, _“No!”_

And that was that. 

They talked for hours, about everything and nothing at all. Lance told him more about his family; about his older sister and his unborn nephew, about his mother, about his siblings. In turn, Red talked about music. He told Lance about the ringing in his ears, about the temper that burned at his core, and how they both could be silenced with too-loud music. He hesitantly, slowly, told Lance about his parents; the way they slow danced to fifty’s music, the way they belted AC/DC on roadtrips. 

Almost naturally, Red found their hands overlapping, and it was so natural he forgot to be nervous about it.

But then, several hours later, as they were staring up at the stars, trying to name constellations, Red’s phone buzzed.

He picked it up, still laughing at something Lance had said, but stopped dead when he saw who the caller was. 

“I’m sorry Lance,” He said faintly, and shook his hand out from Lance’s. “I really need to take this.”

Without waiting for a response, Red flipped open the phone. “This is Red.”

“Red,” Zarkon purred into the phone. “We have a new job.”

He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly through his nose. “When is the meeting?” 

“I expect you to be here in an hour.” Zarkon waited a second for that to sink in. “Why, is that a problem?”

“N-No.” Red said quickly, and shot a vaguely panicked look at Lance. Lance stared back at him, bewildered. “No, I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Zarkon growled, and then hung up. 

Red lowered his forehead into his knees, covering his eyes with his hand. He didn’t even realize that he was hyperventilating until he felt Lance’s hands on his shoulders, an anchor in the swirl of his panic. 

“Red?” Lance asked, his voice beginning to rise. “Are you okay?”

It took him a second to find his voice. “I’m--I’m okay. We need to leave right now.” 

“What?” Lance asked, sitting back. Red scrambled to his feet, putting some distance between the two of them. He turned and began throwing stuff back into the box. “Wait, Red. Wait.”

“What?” Red demanded, turning back to look at Lance. He paused, however, when he noticed the way Lance was holding himself--carefully, as though facing a wild animal. 

“Red, you’re starting to scare me.” He said in a small voice. “Who was that? What’s going on?”

He stared at Lance for a second, something in his chest twisting at the sight of those uncertain eyes. He was--a terrible person. He was selfish and awful for bringing Lance so close to--close to this, close to Zarkon. If he was smart, if he had any sense in his head, he’d--

Red sighed, and scrubbed at his face, deflating. “I’m sorry.” He said after a moment. “That was--that was work.”

“Work?” Lance asked, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you mean, ‘work’?”

Red bit his lip and looked away, debating. On one hand, he wanted to tell Lance about everything. He wanted to tell Lance so bad that it physically ached, like a tumor nestled in his chest. Pidge and Hunk already knew anyway--it felt wrong leaving Lance out of the loop. 

And yet. 

Lance would be in danger.

Red sighed and began picking up their stuff again, more slowly this time. Perhaps Lance had sensed that something had changed, because after a moment he bent over to help, though every few seconds he sent Red pointed looks. 

Red almost screamed at the unfairness of it all. Everything had been going so well--they had had their picnic, had laughed under the stars. And then fucking Zarkon. 

They headed down the outcropping, toward the trees. 

_He could help._

Down, down, down they went, picking their way through the dark shadows and the thick bush. 

_He could be killed._

Red glanced up at Lance from under his bangs, and their eyes met for just a second. Red looked away. 

_He deserves to know._

Red stopped in the middle of the path, and Lance walked several steps by him before he noticed. The other boy turned around to look at him, looking concerned but firm, unwavering. 

He took a deep breath. 

“My work.” He began, “It’s...different from what...what I originally said.”

“Okay…” Lance said cautiously. 

“I don’t--” Red broke off, the words catching in his throat. “It’s dangerous for you to be around me. I was being selfish, but you should--”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Lance raised his hands, and Red broke off obediently. “I need you to be honest with me, Red. You’re in some sort of danger, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Red didn’t answer, but he knew his expression gave him away. 

Lance let out a sigh. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

Red opened his mouth, hesitated, and then looked away. After a second he said, “I need--I need time to think. I don’t--I don’t know how much I should tell you.” He looked back up at Lance. “But...but it would be safer for me to stay away.”

“No.” Lance said immediately. “No. You don’t--you don’t just get to decide what’s best for me. If you’re going to stay away for my safety or whatever, then that’s going to be my decision.”

Red let out all the air he’d been holding onto, feeling something in him uncurl, relieved but guilty all at once. He felt somehow unsteady, a little shaky, but at the same time more sure, more grounded. He nodded wordlessly at Lance, unable to speak. 

“And if it helps--” Lance stepped forward slowly, and took Red’s hands in his own, smoothing his thumbs over the material of his gloves. “I know this is kind of...early, but I like you alot. I’m not planning on running away.” 

Red looked away and blushed to the tips of his ears, mortified. He barely managed to get out, “I...I like you too.”

When he looked back up, Lance was beaming. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_2 days later_

Red limped out of the garage, clutching one arm to his chest. The impact of every step shot up his leg and clenched around his heart, and it was all he could do not to cry out. He wouldn’t, though. Or rather, everything was hurting so much that it was just one more ache among the many, one more pain. 

His back hurt the worst, though. The furrows along his spine burned like someone was rubbing acid on them, even though it was just the thin cotton of his T-shirt. He blinked, trying to get some of the sweat out of his eyes, but his eyesight was just too blurry, he couldn’t--

There was no way he could walk home right now, let alone ride his bike. Every muscle in his body protested as he lowered himself to the ground, careful not to lean up against the wall. He needed--

_Shiro,_ his mind hissed. 

Red fumbled with his pockets, fingers grasping for his phone. His fingertips felt numb, though, and it was only after the third time that he finally managed to retrieve the device. Shiro was on speed dial, luckily. He hit what he thought was the 2, and then call. 

The phone rang. And rang. It was--going on for too long, why--

“Hi, this is Shiro!” 

“Shiro,” Red breathed, relieved. Then his stomach bottomed out.

“I am unable to take your call right now. Please--”

“No!” He exploded, and lifted his arm to try and throw the phone across the street. He was stopped, however, by both his back and his arm pulsing in agony, causing him to curl into his stomach, groaning in pain. 

He rode the waves, hoping that he would be able to surface, fingers twisting aimlessly in the sleeve of his jacket. When he was finally able to let go, he slumped over, half-exhausted, phone clutched loosely in his hand. The constant ringing in his ears seemed twice as loud as usual, but he had lost his music player earlier. Zarkon still probably had it.

He tried calling Shiro again, but there was still no response. _Dammit._

There was--no one else he could call. There was no way he was letting Lance see him like this, and Shiro was off doing...something. Normally he didn’t let his lack of friends bother him too much, but in situations like this, he felt like the only person in the whole damn world. 

Except...wait. 

Red tapped his contact list, and stared at it, barely able to make out the words on the screen. Lance, Pidge, Shiro. 

_Pidge._

She already knew everything about his situation, for the most part. She had offered to help him out, to get him out of Zarkon’s grasp, and--

Did he have another choice?

His decision was made as a wave of dizziness swept over him, and he swayed where he sat, just managing to catch himself before he toppled over. He wouldn’t be able to hold onto consciousness much longer, and if someone found him before he was able to wake up--

He hit the call button. 

The phone rang. Once, twice. A third time. 

“Please.” Red begged. 

“Yello?” A voice said, and he almost cried out in relief. “This is Pidge. What’s up?”

“Hi Pidge.” Red rasped into the phone. “It’s Red.”

Pidge paused for a second, said something that he couldn’t hear, and then said, “Hi Red. What can I do for you?” 

“I--um.” He bit his lip, shutting his eyes and leaning over his legs and shivering violently. He couldn’t feel his feet anymore, and his arms were freezing. “I need help.”

“You need help?” Now Pidge was beginning to sound concerned. “Are you alright?”

He opened his eyes again, and almost recoiled at how little he could see. But he forced himself to look up at the street signs. “I’m at--Broadway.” He slurred curling back over. God, he was so tired. “And Fox.”

“Red.” Pidge said urgently. “We’re coming to get you. Keep talking to me. _Red!”_

“‘M sorry.” He murmured, finally allowing his eyes to slip shut for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow amazing new chapter what is this
> 
> chapter title is 'Pressure' by Billy Joel

**Author's Note:**

> this hasn't been edited yet but i was so excited i had to post
> 
> expect the final draft to be up sometime this week
> 
> I don't actually know if this is going to have four or three chapters, but we'll find out
> 
> Chapter title is get it right the first time by billy joel


End file.
